It was one of these visits that she was expecting, after having been petitioned by a man in a brown mantle and steel cap to grant a private audience to a poor woman of her nation. "She has a message which concerns the King. She has to warn you of some treachery which threatens his crown and perhaps his life," the man had said. Mataswintha at once granted his request. Even if it were a mistake, an excuse, she could now never more refuse to admit any one who came with a message concerning the King's safety. She ordered the woman to come at sunset. The sun had gone down. In the south there is almost no twilight, and it was nearly dark when a slave beckoned to the woman, who had been waiting in the court for some time, to come forward. The Queen, sick and sleepless during the night, had only fallen asleep at the eighth hour. She had just awoke, and was very weak. Notwithstanding, she would receive the woman, because she said her message concerned the King. "But is that really true?" inquired the slave----it was Aspa. "I should not like to disturb my mistress without cause. If you only want gold, say so freely; you shall have as much as you wish--only spare my mistress. Does it really concern the King?" "It does." With a sigh, Aspa led the woman into the Queen's chamber. The form of Mataswintha, clad in light white garments, her head and hair covered by a folded kerchief, was relieved against the dark background of the spacious chamber, lying upon a couch, near which stood a round table in mosaic. The golden lamp, which was fixed to the wall above the table, shed a faint light. Mataswintha rose and seated herself, with an air of fatigue, upon the edge of her couch. "Draw near," she said to the woman. "Thy message concerns the King? Why dost thou hesitate? Speak!" The woman pointed at Aspa. "She is silent and faithful." "She is a woman." At a sign from the Queen, the slave reluctantly left the room. "Daughter of the Amelungs, I know that nothing but the strait in which the kingdom stood, and not love, led thee to Witichis.--(How lovely she is, although pale as death!)--Yet thou art the Queen of the Goths--his Queen--and even if thou dost not love him, his kingdom, his triumph, must be all in all to thee." Mataswintha grasped the gilded arm of her couch. "So thinks every beggar in the nation!" she sighed. "To the King I cannot speak, for special reasons," continued the woman. "Therefore I speak to thee whose province it is to succour and warn him against treason. Listen to me." And she drew nearer, looking keenly at the Queen.--"How strange," she said to herself; "what similarity of form!" "Treason! still more treason?" "So thou too suspectest treason?" "It is no matter. From whom? From Byzantium? From without? From the Prefect?" "No," the woman answered, shaking her head. "Not from without; from within. Not from a man; from a woman." "What dost thou say?" asked Mataswintha, turning still paler. "How can a woman----"